Stress Management
by PunkxValentine
Summary: In over half a century of my life, I've seen some... unusual stress relief strategies, Sara Sidle took the prize for most questionable. A look on how Sara deals with the aftermath of her ordeal. BrassSara friendship, post LD, light GSR.


A/N: I had to write this, especially after my history teacher called out my strange stress relieving method. (Personally, I've never found it strange, but oh well, haha.) Thanks Mr. McCarthy, you inspire me to write. Even if it is in your class.

Disclaimer: Go eat a baby. :-D

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Stress Management

By: MC New York

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Brass's POV:

In over half a century of my life, I've seen some... _unusual_ stress relief strategies, along with the typical ones. Everything from drinking to punching pillows (or people, depending), to building lawn gnomes for the yard. Even knew a guy once that would climb on top of his garage or tool shed and just jump off it repeatedly. Never could make sense of that one.

But while that certainly took the cake fro the most demented, Sara Sidle took the prize for most questionable.

I didn't think anyone from her team knew her strategy, but I'd known it since her third year here. That was almost five years. Ever since the lab explosion, when she'd wandered in with lost eyes with an apology on her lips. That was almost five years ago. And even after all that time I still raised an eyebrow when she'd walk into my office after a tough case with a stack of printer paper.

This time, though, I was _prepared_ for it.

Neither of us spoke as she closed the office door and sat in front of me, a hefty stack of snow white printer paper jostling my desk as it was deployed right in the center. Reaching around to the side of the desk, I snatched the waste basket, but was on the receiving end of Sara Sidle's infamous glare.

"Right..." I dragged the word out and grunted as I hauled my body to my feet. It was no easy task anymore, even with me in my prime condition. "Recycle bin."

Rectifying the big dilemma for Sara, I took my seat again. Time to get serious. "Tough case?"

A drawn out _riiiiip_ sound resonated in the air, 1/20 of the first piece of paper amputated. I eyed the stack of paper and judged the thickness of it.

_It was a tough **week**._ I corrected in my head.

"I was back out there again..." The distance between her voice and body was equal to the vast expanse she was talking about. "I didn't think I'd remember the exact location but..."

_Riiiip_.

"You had some time to commit the area to memory." I tested the waters with my humor.

_Riiiip._

I let the minutes tick by, watching paper by paper fall victim to Sara's stress. The movement was never hurried, taking its pleasurable time to torture the paper that was being torn, and it was _always_ neatly torn. I had to admit, after five years of seeing and hearing her do this, I could vouch for her when she said the sound and action was soothing.

It was.

What felt like long weeks when I was recovering from being shot were blown by with piles of paper torn to shreds beside my bed. Couldn't make it too much of a habit, God forbid I tear up a search warrant or evaluations. Can't vouch for her, but I'd rather have a load of stress than collect unemployment. I'd have more stress than I had originally.

"Do you..." Sara's question started, receded, and came back full throttle fluidly in two seconds. "Do you still have flashbacks of when you were shot?"

My throat constricted around a lump caught there; Scare her with the truth or disappoint her with a lie? "Every once in a great while. They've lessened but..." My shrug came on as I exhaled. "You still getting them, kiddo?"

_Rii_... Stopped mid-rip. "Yesterday morning I tried to sleep when Bruno came in and laid on me." _iip_... Another strip to feed the recycling bin with. "The weight... It just.. I... I freaked out." Before I could even finish my words of comfort, she cut me off sharply. "Bruno's afraid to sleep near me now."

"I'm sure Gil's glad the competition has died down then." I tried for a humor angle again, hoping for better results.

0 for 2.

"He and I can't even have a real conversation anymore, let alone a relationship." I observed as Sara crumpled half a page up and slammed it into the bin, resting an elbow on my desk and her head in her hand. "Natalie screwed _everything_ up!"

Her frail body shook with fury and for the first time in the entire time I'd known what I considered my surrogate daughter, I saw her break down and cry. _No_ amount of paper ready to be ripped would help her now.

Paternal mode kicked in as I stood and walked around to her; She'd never forgive herself if she continued to break down in the middle of the Las Vegas Police Department, open for everyone to see. Beside her, I rested a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze, mumbling a, "Let's take a ride" to her. Escorting her as discreetly as possible out of the Police Department I got Sara into the passenger seat and drove off. Was there a destination? Not at the moment.

"Y'know, you think having an oversized dog laying on you is annoying to freak out about, try jumping whenever a chair falls over or you hear a gunshot on the TV go off." I huffed. "After being around guns for the better part of my life, a few measly gunshot wounds had me skittish for a good while when I was recovering."

Time flew and so didn't my odometer until Sara's floodgates rebuilt themselves and we spoke again. Somewhere between five minutes after I had shut up and between going down every street Henderson had to offer, a free hand of mine reached over and clutched Sara's Certainly not in the respect that my best friend would hold her hand, but in my mind, I was back at a time when I was accompanying Ellie to the doctor's office, allowing her clammy six-year-old hand to wring mine. Visions flashed in my mind of a frightened Ellie Brass staring up at me for protection from the big bad doctor before replacing Ellie with what I envision a six-year-old Sara Sidle to look like, seeking that same protection. The ache in my phalanges as Sara gripped my hand were all worth it, I figured. After all, a father endures anything for his daughter, right?

I frowned. It took me two times to realize this.

I cleared my head and pulled the lever into park on a curb awkwardly with my left hand, pushing out all thoughts of my visions, only focusing on the here and now. Concentrating on the coldness I felt in my hand as Sara finally let go, concentrated on the decrease in tears, and concentrated on her.

"Should it feel like this will never be over?" Sara hiccuped.

"Kiddo, I've never lied to you, and I won't start now." I shifted to face her head on. "It'll be hard as Hell. There'll be times when you won't feel like getting out of bed."

Those once sparkling mocha eyes hid behind pale shields as her head tilted back to lay against the leather head rest. Orange outlined her profile as the Vegas sunrise peeked above the horizon warily. The slight movement in her throat was easily seen in the glow of the sun as she held back more tears.

"But you're strong Sara..." I had been surprised when my voice cracked and a taste of salt dripped into my mouth. "You really beat the odds... Just like Nick, Greg, and me. You got a shit load of people that care about you, Sidle, and I know 99 are at the lab. We're here 24/7, just like always."

Covertly, I reached into m pocket for my cellphone and texted Gil as fast as I could with my limited texting skills. _'Come outside'_ My subconscious had worked to my advantage when it had placed me unknowingly in front of their house.

"You gotta learn to lean on people for support if you want to get through this... It's not always you against the world."

"It's hard."

Patting her hand, I smiled, despite the fact that she couldn't see it. "Nothing comes easy, kid. But... You got some pretty good people to lean on. The only one I'd watch out for is Sanders. He _is_ the smallest of the group, might tip over if you lean too much."

A sound that resembled a laugh came out, and I saw her facial muscles flex a smile. "I thin that title goes to Catherine. _She's_ the smallest of us all now."

"Now I'm sure she wouldn't like hearing that." My voice rumbled in an almost laugh. "Surely that boxer of yours takes the medal."

She revealed her eyes again as she turned to me, tears and that look of being at the bottom of the barrel vanishing like a magician's assistant. "I'd call it a tie."

My own eyes began to focus on the front door behind her, wondering where that man was. "You always know how to make me feel better, don't you Brass?"

A man appeared in the door in a white short sleeved T-shirt and blue jeans seconds later. "Maybe... But not as much as that man right there knows how." I pointed past her with a smirk. "Better to start leaning on the biggest person there is first..." I said with a touch more humor as she turned to see her boyfriend stuff his hands in his pockets and put on a small smirk for her.

The twitch near the side of her cheek felt like the most obvious thing to me as she spoke. "Wouldn't that technically be Warrick?"

"CSI seniority. He comes first."

Without a word, she got out and advanced slower than molasses, the two of them meeting in the middle. There was a drawn out, and what I was sure was an awkward, pause before Sara initiated the embrace. My dear friend, no longer a fool, reciprocated at once. Silently leaning over to close the door Sara had left wide open, I left them to their business.

Back in my office once more, I sat silently after I stored Sara's still intact paper in the bottom drawer of my desk, just _knowing_ she would need it again at one point or another. This job didn't come without stress; I could legitimately say that for both sides.

My eyes drifted to the baby picture of Ellie that sat on my desk, not failing to bring a smile to my face like it always did. Narrowly avoiding that overly picked on train of thought, my eyes switched to another picture.

While I was recovering at home, laid up in bed for what felt like forever to me, the snapshot had been taken by one Lindsay Willows of the whole team plus Sophia huddled around me. Nick, Warrick, and Greg stood to the left of me with Sophia sitting on the bed at my side. Sara, Grissom, and Catherine stood to the right, Sara practically laying beside me with that wide grin of her, Gil crouched down beside her and Catherine slightly behind him with her hand on his shoulder. And of course, the unopened package of printer paper making a cameo appearance on my nightstand, the present from Sara that had everyone beside her and myself scratching their heads in confusion.

I wasn't lying when I said to Sara that she had one Hell of a "family" to lean on. And I know it just from staring at this photograph. After all, with a group like us, how could she not get through this?

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The End

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A/N2: This sucked, more than likely. I didn't feel like I really got Brass's character in this, but hey I'm no pro:) Oh and I kind of also dedicate this to a few of my friends that are in some rough spots at the moment, just the make their days bright and cheery! (and get a message across, ahem... Hmm, did I say that?) Pfft, like I succeeded, haha. Anyways, read and review... Please? 

Peace out, one love,  
MC New York


End file.
